


Agua Mala

by Apostrophic



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s06e13 Agua Mala, Established Relationship, F/M, Fade to Black, Fluff and Smut, Goofing Around, Kinda, Movie Night, Season/Series 06, Sickfic, being domestic and ridiculous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-07 06:58:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19079866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apostrophic/pseuds/Apostrophic
Summary: Teaching Mulder a lesson for unsanctioned Arthur Dales trips wasn’t working too well.Scully gets a cold after the field trip to Florida. Mulder gets ridiculous. Post-episode tag, season 6, “Agua Mala.”





	Agua Mala

Scully jumped. “Jesus, Mulder.”

She knew she said it too loud from the way he jumped too, mouthing _Sorry!,_ looking sheepish. Holding up his hands. He had come through her front door, halting there on the spot with the keys in his hand. She had been expecting him any minute, she knew she might not hear him even if he did knock, but working with four of her five senses was proving a more difficult task than she had expected. It had been twenty-four hours and it seemed she still jumped about every four minutes. She got up from the couch, going over to see what Mulder had brought her.

“Any better?” he said, indicating her ears, their combination of lip reading and gestures. He passed her the paper sack. 

“A little,” she said. 

The Florida hurricane had led to a head cold had led to a flight back to DC where, thanks again to the head cold, by the time the fight landed she could barely hear her own voice. The infection wasn’t severe, it should only last a few days, but it meant Mulder trailed after her into the kitchen, a shadow she’d acquired with her temporary impairment. 

He folded his hands and laid his head atop them, then pointed at her. Had she slept, or would she sleep? One or the other. 

“I’m fine,” Scully said, covering all the bases. “And I can still hear you. Mostly.”

“I brought you something,” he said. He covered his bases too, pointing at the bag. 

Scully opened it up. Aroma rose out, warm chicken soup, a take-out quart from the place two blocks away that spiced it with saffron. She inhaled it appreciatively, feeling her stomach rumble. On top of that sat packs of gum, Doublemint and Juicy Fruit and Big Red, the prescribed remedy to help her ears pop. That part made her smile. Mulder reached down past her to pull out VHS tapes. 

“We’re going to watch movies when I can’t hear a word?” Scully asked. 

Mulder mimed Monty Hall, presenting the tapes. She checked a laugh, sighing at what he had rented. A French film, subtitled. Followed by Charlie Chaplin.

“Very funny,” she said.

She took both tapes, which he dumped in her hands while he went to the fridge. He was still grinning, pleased, when he returned to the table with two ginger ales. She set out two bowls and two spoons and split the soup in two portions before they moved to the couch. Mulder did it again, his Monty Hall, making her choose a tape. She was thinking ahead to the post-dinner nap she could get once they gave up on subtitles and she picked French new wave. Mulder popped it in, threw his legs up on the coffee table, and category five storms aside, it might have been worth the trip to Collier County to earn one quiet night.

 _Que font les soldats avant la bataille?_ appeared on the screen, and Scully blew on the spoon before she took the first bite.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
“Nope,” Mulder said, shutting off the TV. “That’s the last time I listen to a video store clerk.”

She did not need much help interpreting what he said that time. The same couldn’t be said for what had been on the screen. 

“It’s a classic,” said Scully, relieved as the TV went black. 

“Next time we stick with Bruce Willis.” When she didn’t catch the last words, he said them louder. “BRUCE WILLIS.”

“Next time we don’t fly to Florida when there’s a forty-foot storm surge.” She rubbed at her ear, rethinking the reprieve she had granted Arthur Dales. “How’s the neck?”

“What?” 

The irony of him not hearing. 

“Neck,” she said, pointing, as he joined her back on the couch, so close their knees touched. 

“Sure, we can neck. I mean, thank you for asking. What is this, 1950?”

Scully paused on her way to pull his shirt collar down to give him a look. He helped pull the other side of his shirt collar down. 

The angry red welts had already started to fade, even more so than when she’d checked them that morning on his way to work. They were barely pink now, over a dozen in all, like exuberant hickeys. 

“What?” Mulder said. 

She had started to smile, thinking, _We make quite the pair._ Hearing loss, hickeys.

She said, “You look like you were attacked by junior varsity cheerleaders.”

“Ooh,” he said, interested. Scully leaned back on the couch. Regret pinched his face. “That’s the tape I should have rented.”

“You don’t need that much excitement.”

He appraised her anew. “Were you a junior varsity cheerleader?”

She was one step ahead of him, wherever this train of thought led. She didn’t even need to read lips. “No,” she told him, getting up to her feet to take bowls to the kitchen. 

He was two steps ahead, catching her hand before it reached the bowl, pulling her back down beside him. 

If she was annoyed, she sure didn’t show it. She chastised herself. Teaching Mulder a lesson for unsanctioned Arthur Dales trips wasn’t working too well. 

“How long have you known that guy?” Scully asked, ignoring his arm laid across the back of the couch. His whole body faced her. 

“What guy?”

“The ghost of your Christmas future.”

That made Mulder grin. He rubbed the earring she wore, reminding her that she wore them. She pulled both earrings off, set them aside. 

“Is that where you’re going to end up?” She adjusted herself on the couch so he could fit between her legs. “Terra Neuva Trailer Park, Florida. A case of warm beer and a CB radio?”

“The beer was cold,” Mulder said. “And I think it was Terra Neuva Luxury Waterfront Living.”

“Uh-huh,” Scully said, catching enough of that to try not to smile as Mulder leaned in, pressing his mouth to the spot where her ear ached the most. It felt so good that her eyes drifted closed. She nodded against him, and his thumb found the same spot on the other side of her head, gently rubbing small circles. 

It was odd, more like static. She could hear her own heartbeat and the perfect silence more than she could hear Mulder. Like she was underwater. It felt surreal, peaceful, strange. Calming. She liked it. 

His hand moved down to open the top of her sweater, then went back up to cup the side of her head. His mouth stayed on her ear, not straying more than an inch, intent on that spot until her body turned liquid. She squirmed, wanting more. 

“Wait,” Mulder said, propping up on his arms where she had sunk down on the pillows. “This is where I talk dirty.”

“What?”

“TALK,” he said. “DIRTY.” 

He indicated himself talking to her. 

Scully pushed up on her elbows. “Well, improvise.” She was close to laughing at his brief consternation. She did not improve things by unhooking her sweater another couple of buttons, revealing the front of her bra. She leaned back, waiting.

“Um,” Mulder said. 

He sat back on his heels, made an O with one hand, pointed his finger through it. 

“Oh my God,” Scully said. 

He grinned as he showed her his middle finger. Then switched it for his forefinger and gestured, _come here._

Of course those were the three signs he knew. She didn’t obey, catching him by the shirt, pulling him back down on top of her, kissing his mouth once before she guided him down. “Let’s just keep your hands occupied,” she said, solving the problem. 

“Not fair.” 

“Mouth too.” 

His laugh was muffled that time, in the crook of her neck, biting her with sweet exuberance.

“Better,” she praised, sliding her hands in his hair as he did the opposite of protesting, ready to keep guiding him down. 

**Author's Note:**

> This came about back when @lokisgame was brainstorming her fic “Ill Communication.” She writes tender and romantic, I write the goofy riff on the theme… yep, that seems about right. Thanks to her for letting me play with the idea of Mulder’s bad sign language. ;)


End file.
